Occam's Razor
by JoIsBishMyoga
Summary: Eventually, Kurapica found a simpler way.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: ... no more than were on the series itself, I suspect. How very odd.

Disclaimers: HunterxHunter is owned by Yoshihiro Togashi, and whatever publishing, animation, and merchandising companies he leased it to. I'm not affiliated with any of these, unless one counts "buying the merchandise", in which case all us anime fans are co-owners. Ha, as if.

Timeline: Set after the anime. Anime-only, because I ran out of manga. So takes place after the Greed Island arc and ignores all later manga canon events.

A/N's -

- the Yorubian continent is the one that resembles North America, in the bottom left of Togashi's world map. The Republic of Padokia is where the Zoldyck's mountain is. Most of the other place names are made up.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Occam's Razor

(The simplest solution is often the best.)

Ch. 1

The wind whistles bleakly over the night-darkened mountains, snow piling in drifts and falling more heavily by the minute. Tonight's forecast had claimed a storm would arrive by dawn; it seems to be arriving early.

Kurapica can't see his breath steaming in the gusting wind, thanks to the thick ski mask over his head, but he can all too easily see the fortress-like walls of the lodge this rich man keeps here in the frozen south isles of the world. The walls all but glow with someone's nen.

At this level, the nen-user should know how to see with Gyo, and how to mask from Gyo. Kurapica breathes, the single word whipping away before it reached his ears. It doesn't matter; he's not the one meant to hear it. "Senritsu..."

A pause, nearly a minute without response, then a small figure slides under the snowy bush where Kurapica's crouched. "Only the inner part of the wall's marked with nen," Senritsu murmurs. "The perimeter's three feet closer than we can see. And I can hear electricity humming another ten feet out, under the ground."

"Motion detectors," Kurapica deduces.

The dwarfed woman nods, the movement brushing at Kurapica's cloth-covered ear. "Three people per corner, two more on each gate. Between six and eight inside."

That indicated their information was accurate. "Tell Gon and Killua," Kurapica says. "Front gate. Radios on: we move on my signal."

"Agreed."

0-0-0-

_The towns of the world tended to blur together after enough travel, all the cheap chain hotels and sleeper trains and airship cabins poured from mass-production molds. Sometimes the hotels and travel compartments were higher-class, the results of using a Hunter license as a passport for certain nations, but these occasions were few and far between. _

_Mostly, Kurapica and Senritsu wandered, crossing the globe back and forth based only on the whims of the rich men and women who owned red eyes or pages of a monstrous concerto, and the highest-paying Hunter jobs they could get with their skills. Mostly, they lived in a bland mass of public terminals, library cubicles, and heartlessly trendy internet cafes._

_This particular cafe was a dark little pub off the wet streets of Randon, and the wind had all but blown them into it, the hoods of their raincoats pulled low over their heads._

_Senritsu looked up at the cafe menu, considering the options. "The crab salad, I think," she murmured, voice as gentle as always. "And a cup of oolong. If you would, please, Kurapica."_

_Kurapica nodded, letting her take the laptop case from him. As had become almost habitual, he waited in line to make their order, while she picked a booth and clambered (with some difficulty) into it to set up the computer._

_By the time Kurapica reached the table, tea and sandwiches on a tray, Senritsu had logged onto Mapquik... _

_"Email from the kids," she told him as he doled out the food._

_... and, apparently, her email. Kurapica sat and turned the laptop to face himself. Minimized on the toolbar was an icon for said mail; a map of the world filled the screen. Kurapica pulled up the letter first, starting in on his sandwich while he read the cheerful, only partially coherent email from Gon and Killua. (It seemed they'd been sharing the keyboard again. Most of the paragraphs ended abruptly, sometimes mid-word, more often with a mash of letters, then switched to the other's writing style for a few sentences. "Sharing" for the two teenagers tended to go more along the lines of "pull the keyboard right out from under the other's hands to argue a point". Kurapica hoped they'd never grow up.)_

_The email said little of any relevance, simply telling about where the pair were now (the Republic of Padokia, again), what they were doing (more training, apparently a lot of eating, and something involving a singularly ugly painting and a museum), and their current woes about having to buy everything in Gon's name (Zoldyck being entirely too infamous a family in their homeland)._

_That done, Kurapica set aside his sandwich and returned to the map. Down to business. The links of Kurapica's ring-finger chain clinked faintly against each other, underlaid by the almost inaudible hum of active nen. The ball strained towards the screen, swinging wildly and unaffected by gravity, as Kurapica focused on the name of a distant cousin of his clan. The cousin's remains were in the Kurata homeland, so he dismissed that location, and the chain steadied._

_"The far south of Espen," he told Senritsu, listing an island south of the Yorubian continent, almost in the Antartic. He zoomed in, the ball shifting to point at a different part of the screen. "Elzga province... Zhuno city." Thank all the Kurata gods that the filthy rich tended to keep houses near major cities, for both business necessity and entertainment options. It was so much harder to go unnoticed in a small town._

_Senritsu had finished her lunch by this time, so Kurapica relinquished the computer to her to make flight reservations, and went back to his own meal._

0-0-0-

Senritsu's music nen has only improved with the years. Though she still prefers the flute, she uses a palm-sized harp if she might have to run. The smallest string is for sonar and animals, the pitch too high for humans (except Senritsu herself) to hear. The lowest four have been marked with the nen of her friends, Kurapica's trusted team, to keep the songs from affecting them, though she only needs three strings for tonight's nocturne.

She plays for the radio tonight, her figure too easily identified to allow for security videos and eyewitnesses. All three boys wear two-way transmitters under their clothes; their heartbeats keep the rhythm for her, the fight plays counterpoint to her encumbering melody.

Senritsu's eyes fall closed, sound painting a more vivid picture than sight ever can.

Bullets ping against metal, tinkling to the ground in a flick of masked chain. Leather soles twist and squeak against wood parquet. Killua's nearly-inaudible footsteps, heavier than they'd been at thirteen, syncopate with the soft grunts and meaty thumps of men -- no, that one was a woman -- falling unconscious. Rubber-soled boots stomp out a beat, varying between the tap of the floor and the muffled smacks of flesh.

Gon's nen explosions only add fanfare to her song.

0-0-0-

_Some of the cheapest and least-protected information available on the Hunter website was about the defenses of the ridiculously rich. Kurapica wasn't surprised when his license had the clearance to open the files, nor when the difficulty ranking was a low F._

_Twenty-four hours. That was how old the information was. It could be obsolete... but then again, even money couldn't truly speed up technological innovation. The rich could have the best security money could buy, but Kurapica had something better. One of them was the woman at his side. The other..._

_The phone rang once, twice, and picked up. "Killua-kun," Kurapica murmured in greeting._

_"Hey, Kurapica," Killua said, the words underscored by traffic in the background, followed by something unintelligible. "Gon says hi. What's up?"_

_"I need an electrician."_

_"Mou, again already? It'll cost you." Almost-understandable shouting sounded in the background on Killua's end. Something about not being fair, if Kurapica was hearing right..._

_Kurapica almost chuckled. "Name your price."_

_"Us and you, sundaes on Yost Isle." The shouting in the background paused, then switched to cheering. "And not one of those dinky single-scoop things like you get. We're going for the Party Hearty, you got that?"_

_"Got it," Kurapica said. "And it's a deal. We'll meet you in Espen."_

_A horrified squawk came out of the phone. "Espen!" A mumble, then Killua's voice went faint, as if he'd tilted the phone away. "...t's cold, that's what..." he replied to Gon. Another muffled question. "Do I **look** like a popsicle? Wait, don't answer that. ... Gon? Hey, cut that ou... OW!"_

_Kurapica held the phone away from his ear, as if somehow the commotion now coming out of the earpiece would make more sense if he stared at it instead of listened._

_"Ne, Kurapica?" Gon's voice this time, made tinny by the distance. "Kurapica! You didn't hang up, did you?"_

_Kurapica pulled the phone back. "I didn't."_

_"Oh good! Killua got all weird... you'd think he didn't like snow or something. Anyway! When are we meeting?"_

_"Will..." Kurapica glanced at Senritsu, who held up her fingers. Ten, eight, wobble of the hand; two, ten, four. "... three weeks do?"_

_Gon hummed thoughtfully. "It's like a week from Padokia to Espen, right? Week and a half?"_

_"Depends on the wind and the route, but yes."_

_"Okay, Killua says we're almost wrapped up here anyway."_

0-0-0-

"Which way?" Gon shouts, stomping off a guard's head.

Kurapica ducks a flare of gunfire, fourth chain whipping down several bullets before they hit Killua, then flicks the invisible metal out to check. The ball strains towards the left. "Up and back, the north wing!"

Gon aims a thumb's-up over his shoulder, grinning as his free hand begins to glow with faintly-blue nen. "Right!"

"No, left!" Kurapica snaps back. Gon shifts his shot to the correct wall, and the three leap through the new archway into a ballroom.

Up the sweeping, open staircase; the balcony is packed with more guards than Senritsu's heard. Another clone-nen user, Kurapica realizes, as a veritable horde of bladesmen come boiling down the stairs.

Some prime example of a teenage idiot goes down after inexplicably trying to leap onto the chandelier. His gun goes off on impact --

Killua grunts and falls to one knee.

Gon skids to a halt. "Ki--!"

"GO!" Killua rips off a swath of his overshirt, tying it tightly around his thigh. "Grab the wall panel and bullet!" Gon punches a guard into several others, obeying. They can't afford to leave blood.

Kurapica ducks under a shoulder, scooping Killua to his feet. His eyes are glowing red under the black contacts -- he loops the healing thumb-chain around Killua's leg. Killua's makeshift bandage should be enough to catch whatever's flowed out already.

"Now _that's_ a useful trick," Killua mutters. The two of them dart back towards the target door in unison. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"And have you two ignoring injuries worse than you already do?"

"Like you're any better."

They've arrived at the north wing's door. "It's got separate security," Kurapica hisses, changing the subject.

Killua's gloved fingers weave lightning through the systems.

0-0-0-

_"Flight 730, now arriving from Altana, pad 4. Flight 730, now arriving from Altana, pad 4."_

_Kurapica and Senritsu manuvered through the crowds in the airport, pushing past hordes of winter sports enthusiasts loaded down with gear, and entire families bearing gifts. Kurapica had almost forgotten the holiday, certainly hadn't taken into account the sheer mass of humanity filling the terminal; he'd only bothered to check whether or not a particular rich man would hold festivities at his chateau in the nearby countryside. He wasn't, and the crowds would cover their arrival nicely._

_But, Kurapica thought, as another wave of people almost separated him from Senritsu, a crowded airport terminal was really a horrible place. At least Senritsu..._

_The woman smiled up at him. "They're walking through the door now."_

_... could find Gon and Killua in this mess. And Kurapica as well, if they got separated._

_Kurapica stood on tiptoe to peer over the crowd. Sure enough, a familiar head of messy white hair was visible, just this side of the gate and approaching quickly._

_The boys had grown in the few months since Kurapica had seen them last. Killua was getting tall enough to be seen in a crowd, though Gon would still be invisible if his bristly hair didn't stand a good five inches straight up. Both boys were broader -- Gon desperately needed a new coat, his green one was straining at the shoulders -- than Kurapica had been at fifteen... wait, no, Killua had just had a birthday. Sixteen, then._

_"Kurapica!" Killua called out, waving a black-gloved hand. Kurapica waved back, grinning as Gon looped an arm over Killua's shoulders and pulled himself up off the ground to see. They pushed through the crowds, Gon dangling from Killua like a shoulderbag. Both kids had their usual backpacks, and Killua carried a single large suitcase._

_Kurapica eyed the suitcase dubiously -- since when had either of those two carried enough to warrant luggage? -- but politely reached out and took it from Killua's hand. Then he paused, staring at the gloved hand still gripping the handle. (Gon took the opportunity to drop from Killua's back, dropping to his knees to enthusiastically hug Senritsu.)_

_Killua's gloves weren't winter outerwear. The thin leather would let the chill right through, and decorative diamonds cut into the back offered no protection against wind or water. "That's new," Kurapica said._

_"These? Yeah." Killua lifted a hand, twisting it back and forth for display. The black caught the light faintly, throwing subtle texturing into sharp relief. "There was a psychometric consultant with that museum we were at. Got a bead on the thief when he touched the case she'd smashed. Kinda creeped me out, you know?"_

_After the Ryodan woman in York Shin those years ago, it probably would. Kurapica found himself disliking the idea as well, and he hadn't been raised with the paranoia of an assassin._

_"So I got his info off the Hunter site," Killua added, "and picked these up in Zhangong. Nice, aren't they? They'd muck up his readings a ton."_

_"Will they?"_

_"Yeah, with this much between me and something I touch, he can't get more than a profile. Male Padokian, between thirteen and twenty, electric nen." It went without saying that, as a Hunter, the last item was the one thing that wouldn't exist in the Hunter database. Nobody could find a Hunter by nen style. "I figure better to have them now than later. Somebody'll hire one of his type eventually."_

_Kurapica went cold._

_Killua shrugged the topic aside with a flick of his fingers, smirking at Kurapica. "But that's not now. And it's a good investment. See, Gon loves these things." Wait, was that a smirk or a leer? Could never quite tell with Killua, though it was getting easier as he aged. "He really, really wants a pair of his own," Killua added, "but he'd rip right through them in about half a second. I would've never thought I could lord it over him with clothes." _

_... okay, maybe it was both smirk and leer._

0-0-0-

Gon meets them in the small hallway leading to a steel-shuttered side door, a chunk of drywall and several thick wood pylons in his arms. His gaze flicks to Killua's leg, ignoring the scarlet eyes peeping lopsidedly from their canisters in Kurapica's arms.

"Were those load-bearing?" Killua asks, as he hurtles through three-inch-thick steel like it was paper.

"No idea," Gon answers, a grin faltering under his mask at the sudden howls of dogs loosed from the front of the house. The three of them dash through the thick snow towards the outer walls, not bothering to hide their tracks. The dogs would follow anyway, and more snow is filling the prints even as they run.

Gon and Killua learned how to leap twenty feet in the air back on Greed Island. Kurapica's never mastered the skill, but his chains are better than any rope. He pulls himself running up the rough stone, kicking over the barbed wire hidden at the top. Gon and Killua simply bound over the wall in his wake.

As they approach the gully where Senritsu's been hiding with their snowmobiles, Killua lags behind, digging a bag of chemical powder from his pocket. The snow under an outcropping is relatively protected and thin; they all instinctively leap it. Killua twists, holding his breath and bursting the bag. Fine white powder coats the snow. Killua dodges the settling dust with the ease of old habit.

The powder's yet another leftover from his assassin childhood. The chemical will damage the dogs' sense of smell for weeks, if not permanently. But against his training, they still don't bother hiding their tracks, not with the snow.

It's easy enough to outdistance the pursuit now, without the threat of dogs.

Senritsu's been holding the engines ready, when they reach her. "They're getting their snowmobiles ready," she warns, as Kurapica slides into place behind her. Killua takes the handles of the other 'mobile, Gon jumping on behind him.

"Let's make tracks, then," Killua answers. "How far to the nearest trail?"

"South. But..." Senritsu cocks her head, gaze going distant. "North's in use."

Killua glances at Kurapica. The blond's face is drawn, hands clutching at the canisters with their morbid contents. "North it is. We'll lose them in the crowd."

Senritsu nods, guns the engine, and they race deeper into the forest.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings, disclaimers, so on and so forth.

Ch. 2

The atrium is elegantly appointed, floors of imported Ihadan marble slippery under Kurapica's feet. The tea set is an antique, and no doubt costs more than the attending maid's life insurance. The tea itself is almost scaldingly hot, frothy from the Yamamoti-style preparation, and turns sour in Kurapica's mouth.

"You come highly recommended, Kurapica-san," his client murmurs, the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes crinkling with her motherly smile as she sips her tea. "The Nostrad family was most pleased with your dedication during your time with them."

Kurapica doesn't answer, accepting the praise as what it is: the opening volley of a test in conversation form. This elegant, polite woman isn't the owner of the ruby eyes Kurapica's stolen. Even though he's a Hunter, he's lowly hired help. He knows he won't be meeting the owner. But this woman, according to Kurapica's sources, is the bookkeeper. She hides the transactions that fill her client's gruesome collections.

He'd been brought to the atrium through halls with human pelts on the wall, preserved and framed with their former occupants' valuables: a Chalt shaman's dress, an Askrit wedding crown, a fragile old book with Ruske lettering, a battered little doll... None of it would be out of the law's hands had it not been for this woman he is pretending to enjoy tea with.

Kurapica has never been more thankful for his black contacts, or Senritsu's absence. His heartbeat would pain her yet again if she heard it.

"Nostrad was most effusive, in his own way of course, about a time when you located his missing daughter," the woman adds sweetly.

The Nostrads...

0-0-0-

_Rain sputtered fitfully onto the darkening tile beneath Kurapica's feet, gusting into his face on puffs of wind from the west. Cold iron bit into his palms and against his waist as he leaned on the railing, face lifted to the scent of ozone and fresh greenery. The balcony was perhaps not the safest place to be, with black clouds scudding in from the horizon, but... well, he'd go in when he saw lightning._

_Thunder rumbled, soft and far off._

_... okay, so he probably wouldn't. But he could say he'd planned otherwise._

_Behind Kurapica, the latch on the French doors clicked. Kurapica didn't turn. Even if he couldn't feel that familiar, faint aura, or hear the too-quick, too-soft footfalls of a dwarf, he knew the perimeter was secure... and that only one of the inhabitants of this house would seek him out in person._

_Pale skin bobbed at the lower edge of his peripheral vision, before Senritsu -- bald-crowned, mutilated, gentle Senritsu -- stepped fully into view. She climbed onto the iron railing, clutching at the curved bars to peer over the top. She didn't speak as the wind strengthened, picking at their clothing and hair._

_"Deep thoughts today, Kurapica," she eventually murmured. It wasn't a question._

_Kurapica glanced at her. She met his eyes with a soft smile, lifted a finger, and conducted a few beats. Not that Kurapica needed the reminder of her nen-strengthened hearing, but the camaraderie in the gesture always lightened the rhythm of his heartbeat. Or so she claimed. Who was he to argue?_

_"Deep thoughts, indeed," he answered. "Do you remember when we spoke of our dreams?" As if she'd forget. The eyes of his clan, the song that had mutilated her; neither of them would have had anything to do with a Nostrad without such goals._

_Kurapica drew out a chain -- his ring finger, the all-purpose ball -- and let it fall into the open air. "Leorio's biology textbook," he said. "Find."_

_To Gyo-enhanced eyes, the chain glowed pale red. Humming inaudibly, it twitched, links clanking. Then it slowly swung off to the right, the north, straining against Kurapica's hand. _

_Silence reigned under Senritsu's wide eyes. Kurapica needed to say nothing more. After a moment, he let the command go and flicked the chain back into his hand. It sat in his cupped palm, a gleam of steel hope._

_Finally, she turned back to the storm, kindly not watching him. "May I come with you?"_

_A year ago, he would've refused. A year ago, he hadn't gone through the horrors of York Shin._

_His reply surprised neither of them._

0-0-0-

In the sunny atrium, Kurapica sets down his empty teacup. "Before we begin, I would reiterate the restrictions upon this session." A pause, just long enough for the woman to refuse if she wishes. She doesn't, so Kurapica lifts a finger, careful to hold the back of his hand to the client; she's from a country where the palm out is a rude gesture. "First, the questions must be phrased for a 'yes' or 'no' answer, or a location. You may also write numbers or names down to be potential answers." Another finger lifts. "Second, I cannot predict the future." Third, he thinks to himself, he is under no obligation to request clarification. "Is this agreeable?"

"Certainly." The woman smiles, the polite expression of someone who'd actually read the fine print on the contract before signing.

"Then shall we begin?" Kurapica asks, flipping open his cell phone with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

"Of course," his client replies, signaling the maid to clear the table.

Kurapica hits 3 on his speed dial. "It's me." The words are more for the benefit of his client than anything else.

"The transaction was clocked just five minutes ago," Senritsu replies. "It should go to the next account automatically, let me refresh... ah. There it goes."

"Thank you," Kurapica murmurs automatically.

The dishes cleared, an intercom unit set next to the woman, Kurapica lifts his laptop to the table and boots it up, turning it so both he and his client can see the map in the internet window. "The first question."

"Where are the ruby eyes stolen from my client?"

Kurapica's chain rattles, swaying over the map. Slowly, sullenly, it edges off the screen and to a sticker above the keyboard. "Destroyed," Kurapica reads emotionlessly. "The second question."

The woman's voice has noticeably cooled. "Where is the leader of the thieves that took them?"

_That took them from my people, the Kurata,_ Kurapica automatically rephrases in his mind. This time, the ball strains towards a point on the screen. "The west coast of Ajia," Kurapica murmurs, zooming in. "In the Anamand Isles... Dombai... the pier district... and," Kurapica's litany doesn't falter, though he can only hope that Kuroro Lucifer is the only nen user within that district at this moment, "he's blocking."

"Thank you," the woman all but purrs. "Did you get that?" she addresses the intercom unit. A man's voice crackles an affirmative.

Kurapica raises his own phone, courteously inquiring, "Did you wish to buy another question?"

"Actually..."

0-0-0-

_"Any requests?" Senritsu asked, experimentally plucking soft, thrumming notes from a guitar... or something very much like it. The body was shaped like a figure eight, and the pegs at the end were entirely too long. Kurapica's studies had focused on languages and status markings, not music. He couldn't name more than one out of every ten instruments in this tiny Mashadstani shop, but Senritsu's face had lit up the instant they'd set foot over the threshold._

_"No. No requests," Kurapica answered. Although she could probably translate any song he thought of to this strange instrument, whether a lullaby or the top Padokian thrash-music... he would rather see what she came up with._

_"Then..." and the random notes shifted, rippling into sudden melody. The budding song resonated through the shop, echoing in the cramped confines and drifting into the street. Kurapica didn't understand music, but it seemed to speak of ancient stone and bas-reliefs, bright awnings and thick spices in cones of brown paper... of Mashadstan and its predecessors._

_Instantly, Kurapica knew that Senritsu would never play another type of song on this instrument, no matter her capabilities. It wouldn't be right to hear thrash-music on these strings._

_Senritsu's eyes were lowered, would have been closed had she been using her own instruments. She played another few measures, quieting the song... then... "This is a wonderful gift, Kurapica."_

_Alright, so he'd looked up the store on purpose. He hadn't really had any interest in concealing the fact, and she wouldn't have heard surprise when they'd reached the storefront even if he'd tried._

_"But you needn't have gone to all the trouble," she continued. "I would have listened."_

_He felt his mouth flick upwards in a smile. She couldn't avoid listening. "I know."_

_"Thank you, though."_

_"You're welcome," Kurapica murmured. Now... it wouldn't be right to tell her now. But it wouldn't be right to tell her at any time. "We've been offered a contract." Not that this was unusual at all. But... "From Bureishin's people."_

_Senritsu looked up from her strings, the music shifting to a lower key. "That's... worrying." Bureishin had been their last theft, the one where Killua had been injured._

_"It's a lot of money," Kurapica had to add. "It would seem very odd to refuse."_

_Senritsu's song had begun to thrum of dark times... a minor key? Kurapica couldn't be sure. "Saa... it would," she murmured._

_"I..."_

_"It's all right. I know, we have to accept." Senritsu paused. "Necessity isn't a democracy, Kurapica. I follow you as a friend and fellow servant, not a subordinate. You know that," she marked out a beat, his heartbeat, "here. Don't apologize if necessity takes us down dark paths."_

0-0-0-

The woman finishes her call to her employer, and returns to the table. "Would it cost me anything to ask if you can clarify something?"

"No."

"Then..." And she takes several papers from a folder. "What of these?"

Kurapica takes the top one from the stack, ignoring the client's intent stare. The paper is a photocopy of some form of picture card, which looks like it came from a roleplay deck. This particular card features a drawing of a man in vintage prisoner's garb, running down a hill in the dark, wearing broken manacles on his ankles and wrists. Escaped Man; +3 determination+4 desperation, -2 sanity.

Interesting. Kurapica takes another page from the stack: Cursed Enchantress, a masked, regal woman handling reams of bright nen. "These are...?"

"Profiles of the thieves," she informs him over steepled fingers, "given by a nen specialist yesterday."

"Ah." The third photocopy: Lightning Strikes, the bolts running jagged-white over clouds swirled vaguely like a face; +5 death+3 cunning, -1 predictability. "Would it be correct to assume that these don't describe the thieves' physical appearances?" Kurapica asks, twitching the image of the storm downwards for his client's eyes.

"It would," she replies simply.

So... the first card is Kurapica himself, who'd escaped from the massacre, but is still in danger for the crime of living with his valuable eyes. (And who probably does have dubious sanity, but not so much now that he's gotten away from the trap of bodyguarding in the mob.) The next is Senritsu, using the original, literal definition of 'enchantress' -- woman who chants/sings -- in the card's language. Then Killua, obvious with his electric nen and an upbringing as a killer from the shadows... the image even indicates the color and unruliness of his hair.

Kurapica lets his heart send up a silent prayer of thanks that all the cards have so far been misleading. Is Gon's...?

Yes. Wild Child, a suggestion of a human shape in the underbrush. 0 morality+3 playfulness+3 predictability.

But there's a fifth paper on the table, though there had only been four people in on the theft... and only three who'd invaded the house, come to think of it. Kurapica takes the paper, face remaining blank despite his confusion. The card shows an emaciated elven character, bony hands cupping light.

This one... isn't so misleading.

Thrifty Healing.

_Leorio._

Kurapica sets the papers back on the table, lining them up to face his client. He barely hears his next words. "I can ascertain the accuracy of these cards, if you are interested in purchasing that information."

"I am."

0-0-0-

_Kurapica had foregone his usual clothes today. His target was in the park, gods knew why; it was sunny, humid, and creeping up on the hottest part of the year. If he'd worn his usual garb, he would've roasted ten feet past the gates... not to mention that he really, really would've stood out in the crowd. He was the right age to fit in (if there were more than two people over thirty in the whole park, he'd eat his chains), but the local dress was almost religiously adhered to: denim or khaki shorts, fluttery skirts, cotton shirts with short or no sleeves, and sandals._

_The target lay sprawled on his stomach on a picnic blanket, decked out in the same local garb, sandals kicked off in the thick grass. The man was using a thick book for a pillow, and -- Kurapica allowed himself a tiny smirk -- was snoring. Loudly._

_Kurapica bent and jerked the book out from under the man's head._

_Leorio's face hit the ground, and he woke with a snort. "OW! Who the-- what--"_

_"I can't believe you! Sleeping on your textbook? Just look, you drooled all over the pages!" Kurapica knew he was grinning, wide enough that once Leorio reoriented himself..._

_"I DI-- Kurapica!" Leorio flipped to a sitting position, adjusting his sunglasses and blinking up at Kurapica. "Hey!"_

_Zero situational awareness at all. Kurapica still couldn't hide his smile, and Leorio's fury vanished like it had never been._

_"When did you show up? Why didn't you call? And," Leorio's eyes widened, flicking down and then back up to Kurapica's face, "what the hell are you wearing?"_

_"A couple of days ago," Kurapica answered, replying to the questions in order. "I had a job and wasn't sure how long it would take. And the locals tend to call them 'clothes'; you'll notice that you're wearing the same thing."_

_"Hope you've also got sunscreen. I bet half that skin's never seen daylight," Leorio muttered. "A job, huh? Let me guess, the Pelori kidnapping."_

_"Aren't you supposed to be busy studying for your exams?"_

_"Not so much that I don't pay attention to the local news," Leorio told him, scooting over just enough that it would've been rude for Kurapica not to sit. "Are you okay?"_

_"I just located the place. I didn't go on the raid."_

_"Are you okay in here?" Leorio clarified, poking him in the forehead. Kurapica swatted Leorio's hand away._

_"... it's been a long year. But much better than before. It's hard work, reaching for your dreams, you know?"_

_Leorio's eyes slid to his textbook. "Aa. I know."_

_Quiet held for a long moment. It had really been ages since Kurapica took the time to enjoy the sun, aside from a few stolen instants in crowded lines. Nothing like a grassy park..._

_"So..." Leorio murmured reluctantly, "how long you here for?"_

_"Not long," Kurapica answered honestly._

_"I knew that," Leorio grumbled, rough words poorly hiding a hint of wistfulness. "You never are. Let's have some numbers, here." He beckoned with his fingers as if asking for money rather than words._

_Kurapica sighed, laying his head on his crossed arms. "Four more days, then Senritsu and I are heading south for the winter."_

_Leorio gave him a strange look over his sunglasses. "... it's summer."_

_"Not there," Kurapica answered simply._

_Silence. Then... "Well, damn. If you'd just come two weeks later..." Leorio trailed off, a hand brushing against his abandoned textbook._

_"I don't--" Kurapica stifled the automatic protest. He did have to visit; not out of obligation or duty, but because neither of them were free enough to meet as Gon and Killua could. "I've got four days," Kurapica said slowly, picking up the textbook. "I think I could help you study."_

_"It's Advanced Anatomy," Leorio reminded him, well aware of Kurapica's scholarly preferences, "not history."_

_Kurapica leafed through the back of the book, skimming over indexes and chapter outlines, finding test sections. "I don't have to know that much to check your answers against the book's, do I?"_

_"You really don't have to..."_

_"When did you pick up manners?" Kurapica murmured, folding himself into a comfortable position to hold the book propped up on his lap._

_"I've always had manners!" Leorio protested._

_"Your jokes are terrible, Leorio," Kurapica said, deadpan. He didn't give Leorio time to do more than bristle in indignation before he tossed out a random question. "Name the serous cavities of the body, and describe their location and the function of the serous membranes."_

_Leorio blinked, reeling. "Uh, well, there are three..."_

0-0-0-

Kurapica requests a blank sheet of paper and a pen for his client; she writes the numbers from zero to a hundred at random over the page, without letting him see. As she does so, he redials Senritsu, informing her of five more transactions to go through. This one afternoon is being so profitable, maybe even enough to go after the next page of the concerto Senritsu's after... if only the money weren't coming at such a price!

He lifts the stack, paying attention to the photocopied images rather than the numbered paper.

Announcing the name of the card, Kurapica stipulates that the image is not to be factored into the calculation, and lets the ball hit where it may. His card: Ninety-seven percent.

Senritsu's card. Ninety-two percent.

Killua's. Ninety-nine percent.

Gon's. Ninety-eight percent.

Leorio's. Ninety percent.

The drop in accuracy is probably related to the fact that Senritsu didn't enter the mansion, and Leorio's profile shouldn't have turned up at all. But why has it...?

Kurapica can't inquire further without raising suspiscion. So he assures that the client has no more questions, that she has his number should she wish to consult him again in the future, and takes his leave of the mansion.

A half-hour later, back on the outskirts of town, he dials Gon's number. "I'm finished with my job," he tells the voicemail, falsely bright. "Shall we meet for that sundae I owe you?"

TBC

A/N's -

- the guitar Senritsu is playing is a taar, an Iranian relative of the guitar, which is played with a pick (plectrum) and is held in high regard. The picture showed a figure-eight body fronted with lambskin, and a long neck. I have no idea what it sounds like, but "thrumming" seems to work for stringed instruments.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

Ch. 3

Leorio's surprised yelp shatters the tense silence of the library, and he flinches against the glares of his fellow students. "Sorry," he murmurs, packing up quickly. He slinks out of the building into the bleak chill of a coming snowstorm, face red with humiliation and suppressed fear and rage behind his woolen muffler. Outside in the crowded street, Leorio turns towards the downtown area rather than home.

A nen tracer is pricking his elbow, and he wouldn't have noticed at _all_ had he not had his face buried in one of his own notebooks.

This particular volume happened to be his nen notes, not class, but he locks all his notebooks with nen encryption. He's done so since he first found nen in the reading material for an Alternative Medicines seminar. Not because he thinks the information is private -- it's all from lectures and publicly-available textbooks -- but because the encryption requires him to maintain a perfect _Ten_ to read his notes.

Granted, this means he hasn't really gotten any farther than _Ten_, but he can hold the state for hours, even days, through all-nighters and dorm parties and his own frustration. He might even be able to use it on serious injuries, when he gets to his residency, if he has the control. He thinks he will, at this rate.

That, of course, is assuming he survives to his residency. Which means he needs to figure out why he's got a nen tracer and less-than-friendly eyes on him right now. His nen sucks and his instincts are crap compared to his friends, but he's not _blind_. Whoever's got him is Not A Good Guy.

Leorio stomps onward through the rising wind, mind working furiously.

-0-0-0

_There was only one flight to Yost Isle per week, so Kurapica wasn't surprised when (shortly after takeoff, after he'd finished unpacking) he felt a flare of familiar nen. Nor was he surprised when it led him to the observation deck, outside under the airship's propellers. The boys never were much for resting uselessly when they could be training._

_He leaned against the door, watching Gon face off against Killua. The former child-assassin was toying with Gon, using every trick he had: Dark Step to blur his movements, flickers of electric nen to numb Gon's limbs, hitting in blind spots and aiming his 40-kilogram yo-yos at Gon's face._

_Gon, of course, was grinning like a loon -- there was no mistaking that he loved every second of this, even when Killua got a good shot in. And he was certainly holding his own against Killua. The yo-yos never hit, though they clipped at the bristly tips of his hair every so often; and even numbed, Gon's limbs obeyed and sped through moves that bore more resemblence to a wild animal's than a trained martial artist's._

_An open hand clawed towards Killua's face, and the taller boy fell back, skidding to a crouch under one of the propeller poles. Assassin's eyes flickered dark for a split second before Killua relaxed and smirked. Gon waggled his fingers -- several strands of white hair caught under the nails -- and teasingly stuck his tongue out at Killua._

_"May I cut in?" Kurapica asked, now that they'd paused. He let his all-purpose chain slide loose, slithering to the decking. "I wanted to talk to you two a bit."_

_The teenagers pounced, but Kurapica was already in motion. His chain arced out at Killua, spiraling in ways that had nothing to do with the laws of physics. The boy grabbed the round weight at the tip as Kurapica dodged Gon, electricity crackling -- stupid of Kurapica to throw pure steel at an electric nen user._

_Stupid, that is, had the metal not been made of Kurapica's own nen. Over a meter of the chain vanished, invisible even to Gyo-enhanced eyes, the metal gone; the trailing end of Kurapica's chain snapped up at Killua's face._

_"New trick?" Killua asked, ignoring the bite of his own power near his eyes as he dropped the chain._

_Kurapica grinned. "Always learning." Then he leapt over Gon, failing to tangle the chain in Gon's legs, and sped into another attack. "We've got a problem."_

_"Hoh?" Killua's fingers sizzled with dancing electricity. "Do tell."_

-0-0-0

Leorio is good at very few things. Medicine. Haggling. Basic _Ten_. Driving Kurapica up the wall. And going to ground.

He is _extremely_ good at going to ground.

So he wanders the streets in the trendy part of downtown, the crowds thickening even more with well-bundled shoppers, then older teenagers fresh from school. Leorio's stomach roils with nerves as he buys a ticket to a random movie. The show started five minutes ago, that's all that matters. The theater is dark as he enters.

His luck holds. The entrance opens right onto the theater proper, rather than opening to a long corridor snaking to the front of stadium-style seating. The fire alarms are always, always right at the threshold between entrance and seating area in this region of the world. Therefore, the alarm is right at hand in the back rather than far up in the full view of all the moviegoers.

Nobody sees him pull it.

In the ensuing mob of escaping theater patrons, Leorio slips the nen tracer onto a dog's leash, buries his nen with _in_, and slips through the crowd in the direction of the slums.

-0-0-0

_By the time Senritsu had joined the workout, playing lethargic music on her Mahadstani guitar that slowed the reactions of all three boys, Kurapica had almost completely outlined the nen profiler's discovery. He slid under Gon's guard, knuckles grazing the boy's chin, as he finished with, "and a fifth called 'Thrifty Healing'. I don't know why they'd see Leorio, though."_

_"He's one of us," Gon replied easily. Boot to Killua's head, scraping roughly over the ear. "Why wouldn't they?"_

_All three blinked, Senritsu's melody skipping a note. Leorio hadn't been there, had barely seen them (much less worked with them) since York Shin three years ago. But then, Gon didn't think in normal logic... Kurapica and Killua sighed, and chorused, "Nevermind."_

_Kurapica leapt a grasping, nen-enhanced hand. Chain to the back of the head -- missed. Loop under Killua, vanish links against the electricity -- ow, not enough gone that time -- and get grazed by the yo-yo. "We should discuss whether to bring Leorio in."_

_"No," Gon said flatly. He skidded under Killua's pounce and flipped up, shoe nearly tangling in the line of a yo-yo._

_"No?" Senritsu repeated._

_"If we tell him, he'll leave school," Gon explained. "He'll never become a doctor."_

_Kurapica angled the invisible parts of the chain at Gon, catching glimpses of Gon weaving out of its way almost on instinct. "He'll never become one if he's dead, either."_

_Killua snorted. "They're not going to find him. All they've got is 'Thrifty Healing'. There are millions of medical students in the world, and the vast majority can barely afford their books, after tuition and room and board."_

_"Yeah!" Gon added. "They can't catch him through us, because they don't know us. They can't catch us through him, because they don't know him."_

_Kurapica bowed to the inevitable. "We'll leave him be, then."_

-0-0-0

Every city has its districts of tenement housing and condemned buildings, filled with narrow, crooked streets of potholed asphalt and trash. The residents, two- and four- and six-legged alike, are sharp-eyed and quick to bolt; only they and underpaid cops come here purposely.

Leorio grew up in the small-town version of such a place. Even in a suit and too-good coat, neither secondhand, he manages to navigate the unfamiliar neighborhood without encountering trouble. He finds an unused shelter on his fourth try, the building in too poor of shape for even the homeless to bother with in the bleak February weather.

Weatherproofing aside, it's defensible enough, and the floors long since gave way to reveal a solid crawlspace below. A small heap of musty rags promise a less-uncomfortable night; Leorio thinks gratefully that at least there shouldn't be fleas in them anymore.

Now that he has a bolt-hole and some time to think, Leorio drapes his handkerchief over a fallen rafter and sits down to figure out just what the _fuck's_going on. Not that it's a difficult deduction, in the end. The nen tracker doesn't match the nen signatures or M.O. of anybody that he knows of, meaning the enemy is a stranger. He's also been out of sight for ages, working through med school, and random students just don't _make_ enemies of this caliber.

Which means there's really only two possible reasons for him to be a target, and both of them are reckless idiots. This is just so_ typical_...

Leorio growls as he pulls out his phone and dials a number from memory.

-0-0-0

_A soft, electronic beeping echoed through the dimmed room. Stubby fingers hovered over the phone's keypad, brushing delicately against the handset before picking it up._

_"Yes?" The woman's voice was throaty, quiet and rough from rare use. Her free hand, pudgy and bare, flew easily over the keyboard before her, just at the edge of unbelieveable speeds. "The last one didn't pan out? I'm sorry to hear that," she said insincerely. "Then the next possibility for the Hand of Cards is..." A college ID flashed up onto her screen, followed by several windows of transcripts, financial statements, enrollment forms, and waivers. "... quite promising. A Hunter who uses his license to waive tuition at medical school. His application (just a moment, his handwriting is appalling) mentions plans to administer free health care to the poor." A pause. "Yes, I could check the Hunter site for his test year, but it won't have anything useful. They delete photographs of their own, and there's no assurance that he met the rest of the Hand in the Hunter test. If he is in the Hand, that is. I only deliver possibilities." Not much put this guy above others who'd been dead ends. Other charity doctors, other Hunters, nen Healers... the few bits of description her clients gave her resulted in a massive number of candidates that couldn't be narrowed down further. All the better for her, and all the worse for the men who'd lost property and dignity to the Hand._

_Her mouth cracked in a slow grin as she listened to the person on the other end of the line, and she pulled up another window, one she'd kept open for the past seven months. The fortunes of these obscenely rich clients had been dwindling at an acceptably quick rate. Not much of it flowed into her bank account, what with the hacking and bribes, but enough to feather a nice little nest._

_"It will cost you," she warned, grin turning wicked for a scarce moment before she calculated and named a number. This much would leave enough for a cutting-edge upgrade to her wheelchair, if they agreed._

_After ten minutes, the readouts in the window, their bank balances, plunged again. _

_"Thank you for doing business with us," she murmured, saving the college ID and hitting 'print'. "I will send out the fax promptly. Good day."_

_Poor bastard. But really, what could you expect, being a Hunter and planning charity work? He'd have wound up somebody's target eventually. There were entire governments who relied on keeping the poor flat broke and working sixty-hour weeks to afford medicine... or, rather, on the kickbacks, taxes, and outright bribes of the corporations employing those poor. Not to mention the criminal organizations who recruited out of their ranks, often with promises of health care. He would upset the whole system, even if he wasn't in the Hand._

_At least this way, she'd get a cut of the profits._

-0-0-0

The faintest anticipatory hiss of electrons has Senritsu's hand reaching for Kurapica's cell even as it rings. Despite the shower running in the bathroom, the porn turned up too loud five rooms away, and the shrieking children having a pillowfight at the far end of the motel, she hears an indrawn breath as she lifts the phone to her ear.

It's more than enough to identify the caller, and his black mood.

"Leorio?" she asks, impolitely cutting him off. His shout catches in his throat. "What's wrong?"

_"Aw, man! I can't yell at you. Put that guy on."_

She'd usually say no and ask him to wait; Kurapica's heartbeat is only reluctantly reaching some semblence of peace. Not the same type he has during the day, the mindless calm of burying himself in books or the petty details of traveling, or that of the nights when he's sleeping dreamlessly, or even that of lying half-dead of physical and metaphysical exhaustion. It never rests so well except when he's alone, in a hot bath, nearly asleep.

But Leorio's voice is tight with terror under the furious bluster, crackling with ice-fogged breath and starting to rasp dryly, and she can hear snowfall and rats under the phone reception's static. Snow's to be expected, this time of year at Leorio's college. Rats, however...

Senritsu raps once, twice on the bathroom door, hearing Kurapica's heartbeat spike into awareness again. The hand-held shower is shut off, set aside; a towel rustles off the rack and over slick skin, and the plastic legs of the shower stool creak under Kurapica's shifting weight.

She opens the door and peeks in, holding the phone up. "Leorio for you," she murmurs, a trickle of white lather catching her eye before she meets Kurapica's blue gaze. His pulse surges again, worry and care that he'll never admit to, the emotions never reaching his face. "Trouble," Senritsu adds, and worry comes to the forefront of his heartbeat.

Kurapica takes the cell phone gingerly from her hand, his free hand securing the towel more tightly over his lap. "Yes?"

_"What. Did. You. DO?!"_ Leorio's yell sends Senritsu rocking back a step. Kurapica barely manages a sound of utter bewilderment, before Leorio plows on. "_I've got bad guys on my ass and I barely gave them the slip and I am _cold_ and _hungry_ and _tired_ and if you haven't done something to piss somebody off it's Gon who has!"_ He breaks off, breath seething between his teeth, snorting from flared nostrils.

It all clicks into place, in both Senritsu's mind and Kurapica's expression. "Oh..." Kurapica chokes out, going pale. "OH."

"_I KNEW IT!" Leorio howls triumphantly. "This is just like you! Pissing off people who shoot nen tracers and go after guys who can get them to you-- and not WARNING ME, thanks BUNCHES."_

"You would have freaked!" Kurapica blurts out, hand flailing in a way that only Leorio ever inspires. The towel nearly falls loose. "You would have come and joined me! You were never supposed to get mixed up in this!"

_"YEAH?"_ It's loud enough that Kurapica instinctively jerks the handset a few inches away from his ear._ "Well, I AM! What the fuck did you--" _The bottom falls out of Leorio's voice. His next words start out breathy, horrified. "_Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit. You've-- I KNEW it was you, you bastard!"_ And he's off again. _"I'm not _that _out of touch that I haven't heard about that new thief gang! You and her and the brats make four which makes ME the fifth!"_ He curses viciously, kicking a bit of mortared concrete; the scrape of his shoe isn't followed by those of bouncing rock._ "If I'm an international criminal minion I want to know about it, you bastard!"_

"It's a little difficult to be a criminal if you haven't committed a crime!" Kurapica hisses, free hand tugging at his hair in vexation. Terrycloth rustles against itself; Senritsu politely turns away, just before she hears Kurapica's towel finally fall, and takes her own phone from a pocket.

_"Tell that to the justice system!"_ Kurapica freezes. _"No, wait, better yet, tell it to the guys who have a vested interest in serving my _head _on a _platter_!"_ Leorio's ill-considered words stab joltingly into Kurapica's heartbeat, making Senritsu flinch as she's pulling up airship listings._ "Considering whose payroll they're on, I'm sure they'll listen and let me go! With a silver-plated public apology, even!"_

"Leorio--"

Senritsu automatically murmurs, "He doesn't mean it. He's scared for us."

But it's too late. Kurapica shuts down, eyes going flat as Leorio continues to rant over the line. _"I'm going to throttle you. And smack the brats, and maybe even glare at _her _for good measure. After you come trash their asses and _get me out of here_!"_

"How do you expect us to do that from two continents away?" Kurapica asks quietly.

The tone finally cuts through to Leorio. His voice breaks, suddenly tired and too, too old. _"How should I know?_ _Just fix it. Please."_

Senritsu can hear Kurapica's heart shift to the dronelike, focused calm of eternal travel planning. And just as he finally notices the fallen towel, she raises her phone. The flights are listed on its small screen. "It'll take five days," she murmurs. "Tell him to run."

TBC

A/N's -

- if you're trying to calculate the timeline here, Leorio's college is in the Northern Hemisphere. The theft took place in the Southern Hemisphere. It's been about eight months.

- the translations for all the uses of nen are a little difficult to find and match to what's heard in the Japanese. The sources I've found indicate that "in" is for hiding your nen, while "hatsu" is your specific nen ability (Kurapica's chains, etc.). Also, one must take into account that different terms are apparently switched out as slang, such as using "ten" to mean "ren".


End file.
